Burned by ashes
by Freya's Valhalla
Summary: Behind every great man, there is a great woman and an even greater enemy. What they were, and what they could've been. MitoHashiMadara. Drabbles.
1. Fire

_**These drabbles have been inspired by the recent events of the manga (though they do not include any spoilers). I will try my best to keep canon in order and since so little information has been revealed about these characters, it gives me a lot to work with. Read and enjoy, my dears :)**_

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•••

Uzumaki Mito is born the year of the tiger, in an era that will later only be regarded as disrupted, and miserable. It does not seem so to Mito then, when she is a child that is, for her mornings are filled with the songs of the sea, and her nights with children's tales. Uzugakure is fortunate to be an island with much sand and little gold. Lords bear no interest for a land full of fish, trees, and what looks like a large handful of priests, with their long robes and their devoutness to daubing virgin scrolls with crabbed symbols.

Mito watches her mother's wrist twist and arch, watches the strength of her finger's clasp on the brush oscillate, and can almost feel the patterns of ink her mother draws on the scrolls as if they are anointed on her own skin. Mito tries to mimic the designs single-handedly, using a thin stick for a brush and the wet sand of the seashore for paper, as her mother does not allow her to practice yet with the regulative tools in fear she will break them.

One day though, Mito sneaks in her grandfather's study and proceeds to pick up one of the scrolls from the higher shelves, one of those ones she knows she will not get the opportunity to gaze upon in many years from then, if ever. She has been taught good matters, and over all; patience. Yet patience is not something that can be learned through words, but through experience, and six year old Mito does not understand why her mother and grandfather get to look at those pretty drawings while Mito cannot.

It is an innocent misdeed, and Mito does not foresee the consequences of her eagerness, just as she does not see the inkpot when she accidentally crashes her elbow against it, black ink splattering all over the table like a cataract. The rustling of papers and her squeaks of alarm catch her mother's attention, who barges into the room and stares at Mito with a slight frown. Mito is too busy trying to save the scrolls from being completely ruined to notice her. It is not until her grandfather steps into the study, asking what in the name of the Sennin is going on that she realizes she has been discovered. By then, the table wood has turned a deep chocolate color, and several scrolls have been tossed aside, landing on the floor. Mito bows and is about to apologize, but her mother is one step ahead and quickly starts to scold her before she is even given the chance to excuse herself.

Her mother stands next to Mito, glancing from her to the soaked scrolls, and sighs.

"There is so much water in you, Mito. But does it _have_ to end up spread over every corner?"

Mito is not sure if what she sees in her mother's eyes is pity, or shame. What she is sure of though, is that she does not understand what her mother means.

•••

When Madara is asked how his first kill was, he answers it was precise. What he does not say, is that the soul he sent to the afterlife belonged to a six year old boy who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He never reveals the details of his first encounter with death, but he is aware that somehow, Izuna knows it did not go down the way it should have, because the first thing his youngest brother tells him when he returns to the camp is _you did what you had to do. _Madara nods and clasps his hand over his brother's grip, acknowledging the grave look in his eyes, so unlike the child he is supposed to be. But he will forever wonder if Izuna's words are true.

Unlike so many others, the Uchiha do not deem their men adults after murder, for it is not through blood that they gain praise, but through fire. So when Madara stands tall in front of the Kagatsuchi shrine, ready to set on fire the pyre of his ancestors, it is not because of the bodies he has maimed or the mother's that will ever weep for their sons, but because he has mastered nature's deadliest element, and he can now burn hope to ashes.

The elders chant their prayers, words full of ancient knowledge and dormant strength, but Madara does not listen. Instead, he whispers a prayer of his own, one for every boy he has killed until his throat is dry and he has lost track of numbers. He is not aware of his father's nearby presence until he places one hand on his shoulder. For a second, Madara thinks he has been heard, but then Tajima leans closer to him, his grip even tighter, and Madara listens.

"You are a man now, son. Be proud."

The prayers have quieted, and Madara stares absently at the dry pyre. He is proud to have had a good harvest the past spring and proud to still be able to call someone _brother_ – maybe even proud of having gotten better at throwing that damn stone across the river – but he is not sure he should be proud of being considered a man at eight.

Madara performs the hand signs so fast that Izuna can't help but widen his eyes a bit at his brother's speed. Madara revels in the feeling of fresh air filling his lungs and then everything turns bright. Bright and hot and suffocating. There is this old saying among the Uchiha, one of those everybody will say his father's father was told by his father even though no one knows who said it first or why. It reads _"there is fire in every man, but not every man can wield it." _Madara hears it for the first time from his eldest brother's lips on a cold winter night, a night when his baby brother is yet too small to stand guard with them and his father is out on a mission. But the saying stands; it does because it is written on each of their temples, and because it holds an uncanny truth.

However, Madara does not pay attention to the fire running up his lungs, the bonfire he lights nor the stares of his kinsmen, expectant at his every move. He watches the smoke dance over the flames, feels the warm breeze on his skin, and squints at Izuna, who is standing a few feet behind their father, glaring at the bonfire with extreme fascination. Only it is not Izuna who he sees, but the ghost of the six year old he murdered, staring back at him in fear.

Madara is not sure he should be considered a man, be it at eight or ever, because men should not have to kill little boys for any clan, and as he finally stares at the huge bonfire rising before him, he wishes he could be a little more like wind; free and careless; and a little less like the fire he is to be.

•••

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

Hashirama jumps and despite just having been snuck up on – _once again_ – laughs open heartedly.

"Tobirama! I told you not to do that!"

Tobirama crosses his arms over his chest – a gesture so like their father – and raises one eyebrow at his brother's manners.

"Do not blame _me_ for your lack of sensing skills, brother", Tobirama retorts, "And what _were_ you doing anyway?"

Hashirama grins nervously, his eyes darting from one side to another.

"I'm working on this new… ahm… jutsu?"

Tobirama tilts his chin in a demanding way Hashirama has learned to recognize so well.

"Well, it's kind of non-conventional. I mean, I'm still not sure what I'll be able to do with it, but it's looking good!" Hashirama crouches and lays one hand on the ground as he closes his eyes.

"Is that so?" Tobirama steps closer and watches his brother absorbed in deep concentration, a rare state for Hashirama to be found in. Tobirama watches him closely, heedful to any hand seals he might perform, but he never does. However, after a short while Tobirama notices what seems like a small sprout struggling to grow right in front of Hashirama. Soon, he watches the sprout grow into a tiny tree trunk, and just when he thinks he's about to witness his brother perform a miracle; Hashirama falls back with a grunt. In a blink, Tobirama is on his knees with a hand on his brother's back.

"You okay?"

Hashirama hisses and brings his hand down to his lower back.

"Yeah, yeah", he waves his other hand and smiles sheepishly at his brother, "my bad, got to work on chakra control."

Tobirama glances at the small trunk, which stands pretty twisted. He is aware – probably more than anyone – that Hashirama has the potential to become someone worthy of greatness; he knows because he can feel it through every pore of his skin every time he fixates his senses on his brother's chakra flow. Yet his brother has always been much more interested in crops and tales of ancient civilizations, which their mother made sure to indulge him with while she was still among them.

"At risk of sounding repetitive, what the _hell_ were you trying to do, Hashirama?"

This time Hashirama sighs exasperated.

"I wanted to grow a tree, maybe a forest someday."

Tobirama glares at him with such astonishment that Hashirama shrugs and looks away.

"_A tree_. You wanted to grow _a tree_", Tobirama rolls the words off his tongue as if there are completely foreign to him.

Hashirama stands up abruptly and though he tries, never sounds truly offended to Tobirama.

"So it sounds strange, but listen, I wanted to do it because–"

"Growing trees will not aid you in battle, brother, nor will it aid you in your taijutsu training for the matter unless you are planning on using them as your personal dummies, which is highly un–"

"Tobirama…" Hashirama whines.

"Father will not be happy to know you are wasting your spare time on growing trees."

Hashirama tenses. Their father has been brought up in the subject and it is something Tobirama knows he must not do; it is a silent agreement between all of the brothers.

"What I am trying to say is that–"

"It is not a game to me, Tobirama."

Tobirama looks at him with expectation and Hashirama glances at the grove standing behind them.

"I don't exactly understand how or why I am able to do this, but I _do_ know what I want to use it for."

Tobirama cannot see the look on his brother's face, but his voice beams with determination. When Hashirama turns back and glares at his brother, Tobirama can't help but acknowledge how different his older brother is from their brothers, their father and himself, with all that untamed strength and those inviting looks. Hashirama graces him with a smile – their mother's smile – and Tobirama thinks Hashirama may be a fool, but a respectable one.

"I will grow what the Uchiha burn."

•••

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**_I'll probably post a couple more chapters following this same style. My idea is to slowly develop these characters by showing different moments of their lives. Anyway, liked it? The more feedback I get, the more motivated I'll get to write for this, so if you've enjoyed it, please do us both a favor and review ;)!_ **


	2. Water

**_Wow, the manga is really getting good. I'm excited about the next upcoming events! I must say I had a great time writing this chapter, there's just something about these three's story that touches me. Thanks for the feedback, I'm happy to see there are people out there enjoying this story, so here's some more._ **

•••

"_Remember what you are."_

The Sun rises in the East, as it always has. Only this time the familiar echo of the fisherman's wails and the smell of salt make her heart shrivel. Mito pours tea in her cup, even though it will go untouched. Her grandfather is not with her; she heard him leave the house early in the morning, when the Sun had still not woken. It is better this way, for Mito is not sure her eyes can withstand another rush of tears without melting in their sockets, and her grandfather's presence is too great a reminder of her grief.

Mito thinks she should say her gut had warned her about it. That she had somehow known her mother was in danger before she was ravished and had her throat sliced, but she hadn't. It wasn't until she heard Hotaka's screams near the house and a procession of fast steps that she knew something was wrong. _'They came out of nowhere'_, he recounted between gasps, _'clad in black, jumping from spot to spot… as if they could fly! Maybe a dozen of them, or more, I don't know, it all happened so fast, we couldn't…' _

She did not listen further. Mito understood the second she saw Hotaka covered in blood, followed by none but other villagers who had gathered around him to learn of the events. There was no room for misjudgment; the Uzumaki delegation had been murdered. Mito stared at her grandfather, mirth always dancing in his gaze, absorb the knowledge of her only daughter's death, and realized she was the only person present aware that her mother was not the only relative she had lost in one day.

That night, as she lied motionless on her futon, hearing her always so composed grandfather's muffled cries across the hall, she cursed them. Cursed the men she has learned are called _shinobi_, who murder women and children under orders and fight in wars for names.

Mito hears a young girl summon her for the ceremony from the other side of the shoji doors. She offers her aid in fixing her hair and dressing her, but Mito refuses politely. The robes she must wear are too ostentatious and heavy for her taste, accustomed as she is to running across the beach and taking quick swims. Mito smiles at the memory, remembering the countless times her mother has scolded her for not behaving like a proper lady.

When Mito steps out of the house, she finds the young girl waiting for her. Her hair is tied up in a bun and she is also wearing ceremonial robes. As soon as she hears Mito approach, she turns towards her and bows her head solemnly. Mito acknowledges her with a slight bow before resuming her way. It is customary for the relatives of the deceased to arrive accompanied, and it stands obvious that her grandfather already has too much on his hands.

As they arrive to the shore, Mito spots him standing next to her mother's cold body, and thinks that whoever said that a child's loss is the worst loss of them all was right. Mito stares at her mother, clad in a white kimono, flaming hair falling free down her shoulders. She performs _the water of the last moment _on her and sets three of the six coins for the journey through _the River of Three Crossings _in her coffin. Then, as the guests chant a prayer, her coffin is drawn to the water, where the swell embraces it, and Mito can see her body sway atop the waters until it vanishes from sight.

"_Remember what you are."_

Mito wonders – sometimes even despairs– about her mother's choice of words before their last farewell. Why she said _what_, instead of _who_ or _how_ and though she is not sure she will remember what her mother wanted her to, she _will _remember her last words forever.

•••

"_What?!"_

Hashirama glances at his father, shocked at the news the men delivered on the morn after returning from their routine patrol. Butsuma crosses his arms and nods.

"So the Uzumaki delegation was murdered yesterday..."

"Our alliance will be jeopardized by this", Tobirama intercedes, his features caught in a deep frown and his arms crossed in his father's manner.

"Why?" Hashirama glances back at his brother, "Our people didn't do it."

"Of course they didn't, but don't be naïve, brother. Why should they trust us?"

"We are distant kin! And we would have met with them to forge an alliance if they hadn't been–"

"The high priest's daughter was among the delegacy", Butsuma's voice resonates throughout the room, "it will take more than pretty words and condolences to make him favor us now", Butsuma announces firmly as he stands up and fetches a scroll.

Both brothers look at each other, Hashirama in wonder and Tobirama in a deeper understanding, but still miles away from the unfortunate intentions.

"I need some time to devise our next move in light of the recent events."

"I bet it was the Uchiha", Tobirama speaks, "They must've learned of our meeting with the Uzumaki and decided to sabotage it, father."

Butsuma pays no attention to his son's pronouncement and instead continues to write on the scroll. It is Hashirama who jumps at the charges.

"That is a cheap accusation, Tobirama! There is no proof–"

"_Yet_, but it is most likely so."

"It could've been anyone! Even our people, for all we know."

"Please do not put us at the same level as those fire dev-"

"Your brother is right, Tobirama", Butsuma interrupts the heated discussion and pauses to dip the quill in the inkpot before resuming his speech, "It could've been anyone, and that is as good as the truth."

Hashirama glares at his father in confusion, his features hardening as realization sinks through.

"You wouldn't."

His father remains silent and Hashirama hears Tobirama sigh.

"You cannot seriously be thinking of telling the Uzumaki the Uchiha are to blame!" Butsuma sets the quill on the table, "That's just despicable!" And quickly rises, "Sometimes I am ashamed of calling you my–"

"Father!" Tobirama yells, but Butsuma's fist collides against Hashirama's face in full force. Hashirama backs off a few steps from the impact, though he no longer stumbles and falls on his back like when he was a child. Blood slides down his chin and drops on the _tatami_.

"Listen, and listen to me well, Hashirama, because next time I may not be so kind. Life is built on choices. They may be right or wrong, easy or complex, but while some of them will be hard to make, most of them will be _worse_. So in the end, whatever choice you make will always only be the best one out of the worse."

Butsuma storms out of the room and slides the shoji door hard behind him. Tobirama runs his fingers through his unruly hair, not knowing what to say. Having a dispute with their father is a common thing –or rather Hashirama arguing with their father is– but it has been years since it last got physical and Tobirama cannot help but feel like a kid again, watching his father and brother getting on each other's nerves.

Hashirama stands still and wipes the remaining blood off his face with the back of his hand. It is Tobirama who first walks to the table and eyes the inked scroll his father has left behind while Hashirama's gaze lingers on the stained floor. Tobirama reads the script twice and is about to read it a third time when he hears his brother leave the room, but Tobirama is too shocked to even spare a glance on his brother.

Tobirama huffs, whether it is at his father's previous words or at the letter before him he knows not. He is the one supposed to understand his father and yet as he stares at the marriage proposal being neatly sold in front of him, stares at the name his father has chosen to fulfill it, he thinks his father's choice may actually be the worse out of the best.

•••

Madara curses under his breath as another wave almost rushes over him. He has never been good friends with water, much less with a shifty sea. Every time he thinks he has figured out the swell's rhythm, a wave comes crashing down on him, forcing him to change his path. He should've let his father give this task to Izuna; how hard could it be to get a grip on a few Uzumaki scrolls after all? They're sealers, not warriors. But _the waves_ –no one had warned him against _those. _

Despite the constant hindrance, Madara finally nears the shores of Uzugakure. He has dived the last meters and gasps for air before swiftly scanning the area for any suspicious movements. He spots several large rocks shielding one side of the beach which run deep into the waters and makes his way through them, blocking his sight from the fisherman running up and down the port. Once his feet hit ground, he looks for a sheltered place in which to study his surroundings when he sees a man walking from a distance in his direction. Madara quickly jumps behind one of the big boulders and slowly starts sliding a kunai out of his sleeve. He shuts his eyes and listens to the man's steps; hears him narrow their distance with each breath and tightens his grip on the kunai's hilt. But the man never reaches his position, as he turns left and disappears from Madara's sight, and the latter is left with naught but the sound of his own heartbeat pounding fast in his chest. Seconds later, Madara slips the kunai back in his _hakama_ and straightens his back.

"You are one step away from your doom."

It is a voice –a _female _voice he realizes– and the warning makes him turn on his heels so fast that any other would've tripped. He catches a glimpse of red as he turns and finds himself staring back at a river set on fire. She is also glaring at him and despite the previous admonition; the look in her eyes is free of reproach. Madara's instincts kick in and he is about to reach for his weapons when he sees her laugh.

"I am impressed. It takes around half a dozen of men to sail these waters", she glances at the sea and back at Madara, "and a boat –or so they say."

Madara lowers his arms and relaxes his stance. He has never seen women fight, except for Senju Toka whom he does not think can really even be considered a woman with those deadly glares and brute strength, and it has always been clear to him that women must not fight the same battles men do. If this girl were a man, she'd be dead by now. By the time his thoughts focus back on her, she has stopped laughing and is now just plainly staring at him, or rather surveying him. He sees her eyes widen in a beat.

"You are a _shinobi_."

"I am."

It is an obvious fact and Madara does not feel the need to lie or hide it. A heavy silence falls between them and in its span Madara reflects if he should kill her. He goes through all the guidelines, rules and tactics he has learned, goes through the numbers of people he has already murdered and thinks he should do it because she has seen his face, knows he is a ninja and by now must have realized that an uninvited _shinobi _running through Uzugakure can only mean one thing.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asks in such a calm voice it almost makes him smile.

_I should_, he thinks. Because she is a witness and if he follow his mission she will run to alert the whole village. But then he thinks of one of the other rules; _whoever is armed is an enemy_ and she is not, for he doubts Uzumaki girls tuck _kunai_ and _shuriken _inside their _yukata_, and the knowledge makes his judgment falter. Madara sighs. He should've definitely let Izuna take the mission, he would've stabbed her as soon as she started laughing and be done with it.

"Just so you know, I wasn't lying before."

Madara gazes at her and frowns.

"There is a barrier set around the island that monitor's chakra flow. If you were to cross it, it would instantly pick up the unfamiliar chakra and alert of the intrusion", she runs one hand over the back of her head, "as I said, you are one step away from you doom."

This time Madara does grin, because he cannot recall having this much fun when facing a stranger before –much less _a woman_– and he thinks he must be sick for still thinking of ways to kill her despite having such a good time.

"Why are you telling me this? You could have lured me inside its scope to trigger the alarm", Madara glances at the men afar boarding their boats, "Your people could try to catch me with a net, maybe even fish me if they threw a hook."

She glared at him amused.

"And you could have killed me the minute you saw me, if what they say about _your _people are more than just tales to frighten children."

"I'll take that as a hint."

To her eyes, he moves at light's speed and in the blink of an eye she feels a blade press against her throat.

"It is a shame, but you know too much", Madara explains. His gaze instinctively wanders down her exposed neck. It really is a shame.

"And you know too little", he does not see, of course, the smile that forms on the girl's lips and he will later regret it, because it must be a pretty one. It takes more than a second for Madara to understand what happens and it's in that one second that he loses. He feels the touch of her skin against his, the firm grip on his wrist and the next moment he is numb. She lets her fingers linger on his wrist a little longer and traces the pattern of the seal with them. In one fluid motion, she frees herself from his grasp and turns to look at him once more.

"I know what you _think_ you know about us," she opens her palm and Madara observes the intricate design weaved on her skin, "that we seal fish in shells and molt our fins in the winter." She is mocking him and Madara wishes he could move to rip her lips off her face, yet he is surprisingly enjoying this.

"And that's okay, because as long as you think that, we are safe. So I'll tell you what we'll do", she leans closer to him, "I will free you so that you can go back to your men and tell them a mermaid bewitched you, or else I'll have you die right here."

Madara thinks she is a wonderful liar, because despite the haughty talk and the evident advantage, her voice is not entirely steady and she does not look him straight in the eye – lucky for her.

She presses her hand against the back of his and Madara thinks how nice it would feel to dig his nails on her flesh and make her scream. But as the seal retreats and he feels his body regain full mobility, he only stares quietly at the challenging cerulean eyes piercing right through him and does the one thing he has never allowed himself to _not_ do before; spare a life.

Later, once Madara stands back on the shore of the land that will later be known as the Fire Country, he will become fully aware that he has utterly failed in stealing the appointed scrolls. Yet it won't be until years later, when he will also realize that she indeed did not lie, for he had been one step away from his doom, only the bane was not the barrier.

•••

**_Am I the only one whose stories keep getting longer and longer than they initially planned? Reviews make my fingers type faster :)_ **


	3. Earth

**_So I probably shouldn't have written this chapter now that my finals are just around the corner, but inspiration kicks in when it does. Enjoy :)_ **

•••

"No."

It is the simplest of words, with many others hidden behind it.

"Mito…"

Her vision blurs; her mind caught in a whirlpool. Her grandfather sighs and lowers his head in what Mito hopes is shame, because there is no fitter name to describe what he is asking of her.

"Mito."

This time there is more certainty in his voice, yet his gaze still lingers on everything but her. Mito realizes that that which is slowly veiling her sight is nothing but her own tears, fighting their way through her marble mask. So she repeatedly blinks, swallows hard, and listens.

"I know it is a very important decision, a delicate one in every way", he clears his throat and smoothes a crease on his robes, "And believe me when I say I have given it much thought."

Mito remembers what Mitsuko once told her about death, how everybody is racked by breathtaking flashes of their lives and she sort of smiles, because though this is not at all like facing a death sentence, she is indeed having flashes, only there are not glimpses of her past but of the future, or rather the future she will _not_ have.

"I understand this is probably not what you envisioned for yourself…" he sighs and despite the urge Mito has to stand up and scream at him, she feels the pain concealed in his voice, "The Gods know I would never ask this of you under other circumstances, but war is not a distant thought anymore, Mito, it is nearing our shores and we have no way of putting an end to it; we can only protect ourselves."

"We can fight. You have told me of the times of the Cold Summer and how our people drove away the men of the West.

"I am afraid we _will_ have to fight, at least in one way or another. But these or other times; times of great blood feuds and even greater perils, and there are not our battles to fight."

Mito thinks of the stories her grandfather and the men who have crossed the Whirlpool Sea have told her; of the warriors who breathe fire and move mountains. She doesn't quite believe them, but she does grasp the intended fear behind the intensity of what they have beheld.

"You will show them our skills. Let _them_ bleed for their glory."

"There is no need for me to marry to show them our skills, _ojiisan_", Mito retorts sharply. Her grandfather frowns.

"Do not attempt to fool me, child. You have been taught of the nature of politics, and the most powerful way to seal an alliance is through marriage. It has been so for as long as we know and it will continue to be so."

He is right and Mito wants to hate him for it, but she cannot, because she knows that even if his proposal ends up turning into a command, deep down he does not wish for this more than she does. Mito fights back another rush of tears and looks at her grandfather for the first time since he put her between the Devil and the deep blue sea. She can feel something beginning to die in her the moment she holds her grandfather's gaze and thinks of what is to come.

"I will do this," she tells him with as much calmness she can muster, "but it will be the last thing you ever get to ask of me."

There is bitterness in her voice and it is intentional. Mito wants him to know that he has gained allegiance at the price of her trust. He has the right to reprehend her for her utter lack of respect, but he simply looks away and doesn't. As Mito glances at the paintings of the Gods on the walls; all vivid colors and mighty splendor, her mother's words suddenly come to mind – "_remember what you are_" – and Mito wishes to laugh and cry and bawl, because the answer had always been right before her eyes yet it took an arranged marriage to make her realize that in a world of men, she is but a woman.

•••

Konohagakure is a vision to withhold; tall green trees, flowers in bloom, children playing in the streets… all tucked in by the sound of blissful laughter. Lying on the futon of his bedroom, Hashirama listens closely to the echo of pleased voices or what in his _shinobi_ mind is also the absence of desperate cries and gasps for air of dying men. Peace has been settled for months now, after Uchiha Madara gave up his vengeful crusade and became a key piece to Konoha's founding. Hashirama likes to think that deep down he knew Madara had never stopped being the temperamental kid who used to bark at him like a mad dog back when they had been friends. That there is no such thing as the "Uchiha curse" his brother constantly warns him about and that the only real darkness Madara bears is that of his clothes and perhaps his mood when Hashirama bests him in their occasional spars.

Hashirama runs his fingers through his long hair as he pulls off the sheets and then rubs one eye as he sits on the edge of the futon. The sun beams light his face and he stretches before heading to the living room. As he nears it, he recognizes the smell of fresh salmon and brewed tea.

"You're up early today", Hashirama teases. She smiles, her gaze still fixated on the scroll before her.

"I should say the same."

It has become a routine; her waking up with the Sun, him sleeping until the daylight intrudes on him. He does not mind the empty bed in the morning as long as it's not so in the night. Hashirama walks up to her and glances over her shoulder at the design.

"Which one this time?"

Mito traces a thin line next to another that zigzags until reaching the next one.

"A mirror seal. Similar to the Nara's jutsu, only I like to think it is somehow more… efficient."

Hashirama smiles. "Great, just don't say that to them."

"You offend me", she mocks as she draws the last symbol.

"I really hope I do not", he sits beside her, "You know, for my safety and all."

"For your safety", she says back, "I wouldn't want to deprive Konoha of its future Hokage."

Hashirama throws his head back. "Please don't bring up the subject; I don't even want to think about it."

Mito sets down the quill and smoothes the tips of the scroll. "It is inevitable, you know. You are after all the most suited for the position. If I hadn't heard you complain yet for a hundredth time about how much you dislike the idea, I'd think you would be honored."

Hashirama sighs. "I am, it's just… well, I think others should be taken into consideration to start with."

For a second, Mito stiffens and then turns to face her husband. "You mean Madara."

Hashirama glances away, a little ashamed of being that obvious, though she _is_ the woman who made him want to run away and never return the first time they met, and it's not like he can keep much from her when they're already beyond judgments.

"I know it may sound ridiculous because of his previous unwillingness to put an end to our clan's grudges, but I really think he has what it takes to be a good leader, and I want him to be one. He has lost much, being Hokage would bring him closer to the village."

"We have all lost much; your brothers, your father, my mother. He has what it takes to be a leader; he has proved that with his own kin, but I am not sure he has what it takes to be a good one. Your dream is too great to risk it for one man."

"It is _our_ dream."

"Is it?"

It is in moments like these when Hashirama thinks that regardless of time, alliances and clans, he would've still married Mito in any case, because she is practically everything he is not and he could not be gladder about it.

"I'm sorry, I'm just being selfish. I wish so much for everybody to see the good in him that I am putting my own desires above those of the villagers."

"Don't be. Even selfishness can be the other side of love."

Hashirama looks at her; looses himself in the enthralling sea of her eyes and gently pulls her into his arms.

"Sometimes I really think I do not deserve you."

Mito wants to tell him that it is not sometimes, but rather_ always_ that he thinks he does not deserve her, despite that not being true. She also wants to tell him that it's probably her that does not deserve him, for having been so adamant to getting to know him when they were formally introduced and having been equally blind to his kindness for too long. Then she smiles gratefully, aware that by now Hashirama is not even waiting for a reply because it's only her out of the two who thinks everything through so thoroughly. In the end, she only says "_hush"_ and wraps her arms around his neck.

•••

"I had my doubts when I first saw you standing next to him, but I was sure it was you the minute you looked at me," he tells her one day while at Konoha's outskirts.

"Is that so?" She asks, playing into this game that seems to surface every time they speak.

"Oh, I never forget a pair of eyes, or a pair of anything for that matter, believe me," he grins, "It is a gift."

Mito smiles. "I will pray for that." Unlike Hashirama, she keeps an open mind about Tobirama's theories, if only to be ready for what her husband may not.

Madara is sitting on a tree branch; his back resting against the tree trunk while one leg falls loose next to the branch. He watches Mito take her sandals off and set them together neatly beside her.

"You really are some kind of fish; never straying too far from water," Madara mocks her from the tree as she lifts her yukata over her knees and adjusts it so it does not fall back in place.

Mito is glad she has her back turned on him and not her face or else he would notice the big smile that just formed on her lips and she does not want to give him that satisfaction.

"I see you did not learn your lesson back then, Madara-san," she walks towards the pond lying before her and tentatively dips one foot in the cold water, "do not mess with _fish_ just because they look weaker."

Madara laughs and runs one hand over his face to try to lessen it. "Are all Uzumaki this clever?

"I hope not, or else they'd be very frustrating to deal with." Mito dips her other foot in the water and relishes the feeling of the cool water enfolding her feet. A few meters behind, Madara jumps off the tree and lands on the ground in a perfect stance. This woman definitely gets on his nerves, which for Madara unlike for the rest of the world, is actually something exciting, instead of plain annoying.

"I think we got started on the wrong foot," Madara states as he slowly nears the distance between them, "What happened five years ago was duty and now –

"It is a different kind of duty," Mito interjects as she delves deeper into the water. Madara halts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"_Yes_, it is. You are now my… _friend_'_s_ wife, whose husband happens to also be the Senju's head clan. So yes, it is my duty to show my respects to you, but do not get the wrong idea, I am not trying to settle things right between us out of convention, but out of my own will," Madara lowers his chin and glares at her back, "I'm nobody's _puppet_."

Mito listens quietly to the whole speech, tries to perceive the faintest trace of irony or deception in it and finds there is none, which frankly comes as a fair surprise. Of what she has learned, Madara is prideful, arrogant and quiet full of himself; all garnished with a lot of sarcasm, but apparently he is not a liar – yet. Moreover, he has called Hashirama his friend, a label which he is obviously not at all comfortable with but uses regardless.

"Very well," Mito turns to look at him, "from now on I will put aside my ill-feelings towards you in hope that we can also someday call each other _friend_."

Madara smiles and this time it is a genuine one, with no pride. "You are a strange woman, Uzumaki Mito."

Mito smiles back. "Coming from you, I will take that as the highest of compliments," she then turns back to the depths of the pond and watches the wind rock the waters, "You should soak your feet in it too, it's nice."

Madara holds back from telling her that he is like a cat when it comes to water and that it is the stinging of fire he enjoys the most. Mito on the other hand, holds back from mentioning he mustn't worry about fading away like a candle. In the end, Madara gives in and finds himself barefoot, standing one inch away from the pond. He cannot know what Mito is thinking but if he did, he might tell her that he is not afraid of water because it may burn him out, but rather afraid of the fire it's fueling in him despite of contradicting nature itself.

•••

**_I hope I'm still keeping the story interesting enough and that you are able to grasp all of the subtleties I try to throw in; I kind of have a thing for them. Anyway, please review and bear with my update rate ;)_ **


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